Of All the Gin Joints in All the World
by la plus heureuse
Summary: Ron Weasley never thought he'd run into Pansy Parkinson again, let alone at a bar in muggle London. And him taking her home? You'd be mad to suggest it. Oneshot companion to "A Trip to Bath". Complete.


Ron Weasley didn't make it a habit to go out for a drink by himself in the muggle world. But some nights after a shift, after a particularly tough day of working a case or after a particularly gratifying arrest he wanted a drink. And the nature of being Ron Weasley meant that getting a drink in Diagon Alley was difficult on nights that he was fine with chatting with every old dear who had to let him know just how much they were thankful for what he had done.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the gratitude. It was more that he had no idea what they wanted him to do with it all. Reminding them that it wasn't only him never worked. Politely asking for privacy turned them off from him, calling him selfish for not wanting to hear their gratitude. Silently listening and thanking them meant that he would spend hours nodding. Sometimes they'd even try to set him up with a nice girl- their daughters or nieces or sisters. Or themselves. And that was a whole other fucking minefield, because they all either wanted to fuck the hero or trap him in marriage. And while Ron was as interested in sex as any other man his age, he'd rather it not be out of some feeling of obligation.

No, the muggle world was safer. Sometimes Harry or Hermione would join him, but Harry was given a wide berth and deference. He was the chosen one. He, the most famous person in the Wizarding World, could still walk through Diagon Alley and have everyone pretend not to notice him. And Hermione excelled at the combination of genuine gratitude and firm boundaries that allowed people to feel heard and also not like they could linger with her. They didn't need to escape with him. And they didn't have time. Harry was busy being a newlywed, and he and Ginny were spending so much time together that Ron hadn't seen Harry alone in weeks. He wasn't complaining- honest to Merlin, he wasn't, he was overjoyed that they were so happy together- but he did miss Harry. He missed Hermione too, who had just started a degree at a muggle university that Ron didn't quite understand but gathered that it was prestigious and important and made her almost as busy as she had been during O.W.L.s.

Fine. Maybe Ron Weasley was making a habit to go out for a drink by himself in the muggle world.

It was a late Sunday night in early June, and Ron was wandering the streets of London. He had volunteered to take the Sunday shift from Harry after Ginny had surprised him with tickets to see Wasps versus Tornados. And although Ron would have loved to be there cheering with his best friend and his sister, the second Harry asked- so tentatively, like he was afraid after all these years that Ron would say no- Ron had slapped Harry on the back and told him _no worries, mate. I didn't have any plans anyway._

Hermione asked him if he wanted to come over after his shift. But by this point she would already be surrounded by her books, completely absorbed in her textbooks and would be liable to forget he was there. And Ron would be left feeling itchy and restless at Hermione's house, and would just end up at the bar by himself after she started to fall asleep while reading.

No. Muggle bars it was. They had a wonderful variety. There were pubs, like the Leaky, and something called a dive bar, which reminded him of the Hog's Head. But there were also restaurant bars, with polished wood and music and beautiful people who drank brightly colored cocktails and laughed like they knew people were watching them. Those were Ron's favorite types of bars. And he was seeking one out tonight.

The Yarrow Inn, this one was called. And it was still open. Ron slipped in and the door closed gracefully behind him.

He could already tell he'd like this bar. The light was golden and the bar was stocked with gleaming bottles and the man behind the bar wore a sharp, starched suit. He was polishing the dark wood bar with a cloth and looked up at Ron as Ron made his way in. The man was maybe thirty, with dark hair and a haughty air.

"The kitchen's just closed." The words were apologetic but the tone was not. Ron reached the bar.

"Are you still pouring drinks?"

"I am here until midnight." The words were careful, and Ron slid into a seat. He could feel the man's eyes on him, taking in his leather jacket, his tattoos, his closely cropped hair. Sometimes people decided he didn't belong in bars like this, which made him enjoy them more. Ron had spent his whole life being mocked for being poor. He took a perverse pleasure in being able to buy respect as an adult.

Apparently there would be no silent standoff tonight because the bartender slid him a menu and went to check on a few other patrons at the other end of the bar. The restaurant was almost empty, with a few tables lingering over dessert and wine. Ron would have liked a dessert himself, but it seemed too late at night to push the issue. He began to study the menu instead.

He was well on his way to becoming a connoisseur of muggle liquor. It wasn't that he was a drunk. He liked one drink, maybe two at a time. But the things muggles came up with were so much more interesting than firewhisky and gillywater. Amaro and vermouth and Scotch and ale. There were so many things to try. This bar offered tantalizing possibilities. He would have to remember to come back.

"And what will it be?" The bartender had returned.

"Gin martini, my good man."

"Shaken?"

Ron shook his head. "Stirred." A glimmer of respect appeared in the bartender's eye.

"Of course." And he went off to make the drink.

As the bartender began building Ron's drink a woman took a seat three down from Ron. She looked oddly familiar, with a sharp black bob, enormous blue eyes, and high cheekbones. Something was prickling at Ron's scalp. He had seen her before.

Ron hadn't heard the door open, and so she hadn't come from that direction. Her clothes were casual- jeans and a men's collared shirt, and a pair of black work boots. She was carrying a leather cylinder that she dropped on the bar. She must have come from the kitchen. There was even a streak of something white across her cheek- flour, he'd bet. But still. How did he know her?

Perhaps he had seen her at other bars. Or maybe she was a witness in an old case. But Ron's intuition was telling him she was more significant than that.

The bartender gave Ron his martini, then walked over to her. He leaned against the bar, a casual posture. They knew each other well. She leaned forward and smiled.

"A Manhattan tonight, Jimmy." The bartender nodded then rocked back.

"Making me work like always, Pans."

The bartender walked back to the well to begin mixing the drink and she glanced over. There was one brief second of astonishment at seeing Ron before her face went very still.

Ron stood with his drink and walked over to her.

"Pansy Parkinson."

"Ron Weasley." Her voice was controlled and collected, but her hands were trembling slightly. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Ron held up his drink. "My craving for a strong drink. May I?" he gestured to the empty seat next to her. She gave one stiff nod, and then he sat.

"A craving for a drink led you to this restaurant? Do you make a habit of wandering around muggle London?" The question was posed so quietly that Ron barely heard it.

"I do, actually," Ron said. "I find it interesting. Do you make a habit of working in muggle restaurants?"

Pansy didn't answer while Jimmy the bartender brought her the drink, then frowned at Ron's movement. Pansy gave him a nod.

"We went to school together," she said. Jimmy's posture relaxed.

"Old friends?" Jimmy asked.

Ron gave a short laugh. "No." He raised his glass in a toast, then took the first cool sip of his martini.

Pansy's mouth had twisted into a reluctant smile. "No," she agreed, then toasted Ron with her own drink.

"Then I'll let you two catch up," Jimmy said. "If you need anything-" he eyed Pansy significantly.

"I will," she told him, and Jimmy returned to the well, where he began wiping down his bottles.

"How did you know I work here? Have you been following me? Is this for some case?" Pansy's voice was soft and crisp. "I heard you're an Auror now."

"I am," Ron said, and he leaned in closer towards her. She had grown into her looks. She was no longer awkward looking, but deeply interesting. She could have been an oil painting, finely detailed. "Which is how I know you work here. You came in through the back, where the kitchen is. You've got flour on your face- no, the left side," Ron said as Pansy went to wipe it off. "You're carrying knives in your tote, and the bartender is protective of you. It's simple. So why?"

Pansy took a long, delicate sip of her drink before answering, and as she did her enormous eyes met Ron's. She studied him nakedly for a moment, then dropped her eyes to the tattoo on the inside of his right wrist.

"FW?"

"My brother Fred."

She nodded over the rim of her glass. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure."

"I am." Her eyes caught his again. "About everything." They dropped back down to the bar.

"That's why I'm here." She could barely meet his eyes but her words began to come out like a flood. "Because Mum thought I was ruined. I ruined our chance for rehabilitation like Draco by calling for Harry. And I ruined my chance to make a lovely, pureblood marriage by saying that I'm glad that He's dead in front of the Malfoys. Narcissa made sure everyone knew within a week. So my options were to be shipped off to the continent where I'd do minimal harm and would live the rest of my life trying to marry into a third string, impoverished pureblood families there or flee. I chose to flee."

"And your parents?"

She delicately stirred her drink with a cherry stuck on a skewer. "They no longer claim a daughter."

"I'm sorry," Ron said, and he meant it. Pansy looked up with half a smirk.

"I'm not."

"You don't ever think about what you left behind?"

Pansy shrugged. "We were told we were fighting for family. For family and freedom and the betterment of wizards everywhere. What a load of shite. We fought for Him because we were like kids with all the candies who were afraid that someone might want a chocolate frog." She looked suddenly enraged. "My dad wanted me to take the mark. I was due to after school was finished. And I spent that entire year trying to find a way out. In that moment-" she gave a great shuddering breath and Ron saw that her eyes were beginning to glitter with tears. "In that moment I was trying to take my way out, and that will be the worst moment of my life for as long as I live."

"A penance," Ron murmured.

Pansy cocked her head towards him. "A what?"

"Hermione calls it a penance. It's the punishment you give yourself when you're looking for redemption."

Pansy gave a shaky laugh. "That sounds accurate, yes. And so I guess that's my penance. I relive that moment every day. And now I do manual labor with muggles because I'm cut off from my vault."

"Must be miserable." Ron could not stop the sarcasm from leaking into his voice. Pansy surprised him with a smile.

"At first I thought it was. But, no. It's not. I quite enjoy it, actually. Here I'm not Delilah's daughter or a Slytherin or a pure-blood or a filthy muggle-lover, or whatever else I was known as. Here I'm Pansy. My knife skills could still use work, but I plate nicer than anyone else and my seasoning is always spot on. I'm not my history here. It's been better than I deserve." Pansy nodded solemnly and took another swallow of her drink. Ron followed suit.

"That's why I come to the muggle world," Ron said suddenly. He did not understand this compulsion to share with her, but now that he had started it didn't seem like he could stop. "No one knows me. I'm just any bloke here."

"Need an escape from the adoration?" The tone was softer than he expected, and Ron realized with a start that Pansy was flirting with him.

"Adoration is bloody exhausting," Ron retorted. "I'll take anonymity any day."

"What would you do if you were anyone? Just a normal bloke in a normal bar?"

"What would you do?" Ron turned the question back to her. Maybe he was flirting a bit now too.

She studied him for a moment and the corners of her lips lifted up. "I would ask you about your tattoos."

Ron didn't answer but instead shrugged off his heavy leather jacket. He wore a black t-shirt and he had the briefest flash of gratitude that Auror training had helped fill out his muscles. He was flirting with her. Pansy Parkinson. He was royally fucked.

"I got this one with Harry and Hermione, a month after it was all over." He gestured to the abstract phoenix across his bicep. "We couldn't stand the thought of watching any more trials. So we found a muggle tattoo artist, and…" Ron shrugged. "It started an addiction."

"And how is Hermione?" There was a hesitation in Pansy's tone. Ron raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why do you want to know?" Pansy flushed slightly and straightened her spine.

"I like to know what the golden girl is doing. Makes me feel confident in all my choices."

"Mmm," Ron agreed. "And how is Draco?"

Pansy looked away for just a moment. "Fair enough." She took another sip as if she was summoning some braveness, then looked back at Ron. "Draco's fine. He's as well as I could expect. We see each other occasionally. He helped me get all the papers I need to work in the muggle world. He runs a business in the muggle world. He barely speaks with his parents anymore. They're hoping that he'll see logic. We see each other when both our schedules allow." She began shredding a napkin underneath her drink.

"Hermione's doing well," Ron said after a long pause. "She's working at Creatures but she's considering a move to Magical Law." He spoke with the same clinical, matter-of-fact tone that Pansy had used when talking about Draco. "She just started taking classes at a muggle university. She's buying a cottage. White picket fence and all." Ron took a deep of his martini. "We get together over lunches at work when they line up. She's so bloody busy otherwise." Pansy was still avoiding Ron's eye. He took a gamble.

"And we broke up. Last year."

He was right. Pansy's eyes snapped over to his and lingered on his face for a long time. "So tell me about your tattoos," she said, and slowly began to smile.

Ron could feel an answering smile on his own face. Of all the things he had expected for tonight, this was not even in the realm of possibility.

"What do you want to know?"

Pansy gave him an appraising glance, one that made him feel warm and squirmy.

"How many?"

"Seven," Ron said, laying out his arms. "Most of them are here."

Pansy's fingers delicately reached out, then rested on the crown on his left wrist.

"The king?"

Ron gave her a half smile. "A little bit of vanity. I thought about passing it off as a chess metaphor, but since I also have a knight that wouldn't work."

Pansy's fingers left Ron's wrist and slowly traced the knight tattoo on his neck.

"That one took the longest." It was one of his favorites, a fine lined and shaded replication of the knight that he had used in McGonagall's giant chess game.

"It fits you," Pansy said, her eyes still on Ron's neck. Her voice was soft and intimate, and being here with her was like being in someone else's dream. "Quietly powerful."

Ron could feel blood rushing to his face.

"I see four," Pansy said, her voice returning to its normal strength. "What about your other three?"

"Two crests, one Gryffindor, one of King Arthur's. And a bit of Latin."

" _Carpe diem_?" Pansy teased. Ron laughed.

"I thought about it. But no. _Ex Nihlo Nihil Fit."_

"What does it mean?"

"From Nothing Comes Nothing," Ron said. "I got it a year after-" after always meaning after the war, and from Pansy's nod he knew she understood, that she marked her days in the same way too.

"I was looking for some guiding light, and everything seemed false, and then Hermione was reading in bed one night and I was curious about what all that Latin meant."

"Of course she reads Latin," Pansy said, and there seemed to be some slight jealousy in her voice. Ron filed that away for later examination.

"With all the Latin we use I should speak it. But of course, no one does. Except Hermione."

"They should have taught it at Hogwarts," Pansy complained. "Along with maths and reading. It's more useful than divination."

"You're not wrong," Ron said. "But all the sudden it was like some understanding broke on me. Nothing comes from nothing. Everything is built on everything that's ever happened. It's something you know, of course." Ron shrugged apologetically. He suddenly felt a bit foolish. Trying to explain a revelation so personal he had it etched into his skin made him feel like he was taking and failing a test back at Hogwarts. "Everyone knows. But it had never been put os clearly to me."

Ron buried his face in his martini. It was almost empty. He wanted to linger here with her longer, talking to her and making her laugh. He also wanted to flee. Would she turn back towards her gang of girls she knew in Slytherin and recount this whole conversation, making him look like a fool?

"Nothing comes from nothing," Pansy said slowly. She looked up at Ron, and he met her eye. "This couldn't come from nothing, could this? We would never be talking and sharing like this if there was nothing between us."

"No, we wouldn't," Ron said wryly and looked straight into her eyes. They were wide and dark blue, the color of the sapphires in the Ravenclaw hourglass. It was a terrifying intimate moment with her, and Ron felt very much like whatever would come from this night, there would never be nothing between them.

"And the something between us could change," Pansy continued, rushing through her words. Two pink spots were appearing on her cheeks and the air between the two of them suddenly felt charged. "But for something to grow there has to be something to start."

Ron very much did not want to be the one to break eye contact in that moment. He could think of nothing to say besides foolish things. His brain was stretching and searching and not reaching anything.

"What about you?" Ron finally asked after several moments of silence. "Do you have any ink?"

Pansy looked down at her drink and shook her head. "No. I would want something good to commemorate. And I haven't had that yet."

"It's not too late," Ron said, and on impulse laid his hand on hers. She turned her hand and wrapped her fingers around his.

"You're right," she said and gave half a smile. "I'm sorry. I'm playing the poor little rich girl."

"I never thought that about you," Ron said. Pansy looked up at him with an arch look.

"No?"

"No. I thought you were a bitch."

Pansy laughed at that, a full-throated laugh. The bartender looked over at them, assessed the situation, and then resumed polishing his glasses.

"I was a bitch," she agreed. "I was wretched."

"You were terrible," Ron said, and there was some humor? fondness? in his tone. He would never have believed this turn of events and here he was, laughing with Pansy Parkinson.

"Well," Pansy said, "I can't promise I'm no longer a bitch, but I think I'm less of one."

"That can only be an improvement."

"But going back to you. You haven't finished showing me your tattoos."

"I'm not taking off my shirt in a bar," Ron said, and his insides felt warm. Surely she knew where this was going.

She did. "What about somewhere else?" She met his gaze steadily, and he could feel a smile stretching across his face.

"I have an apartment," Pansy volunteered. "With a muggle roommate, and it's untidy, but if you're interested…" she let her words delicately trail off as her glance made her way up and down his body. Ron could feel the twitching of arousal beginning.

"I also have an apartment," Ron volunteered. "Without a roommate."

"You would trust me there?" Pansy asked. Ron studied her for a moment.

"I think so, yeah."

The bartender made his way over. "Another for either of you?"

"Just the check," Ron said without breaking eye contact.

"Thank you, Jimmy," Pansy said.

Pansy took a deep swallow of her drink while Ron pulled out some combination of paper that seemed sufficiently generous, then he stood. He stretched out one hand. "Are you ready?"

"Absolutely," Pansy said, her voice throaty and her color high. She led him out to the alley, where he apparated them away to his apartment.

They landed in his entryway, across from the large foe-glass that he had installed.

"Security measure?" Pansy asked as she looked at the shadowy figures in the mirror.

"Occupational hazard," Ron said and shrugged off his jacket. He removed his wand from the inner pocket and waved it to turn on the lights of the apartment. "Come on, I'll show you around."

His dad had been delighted when Ron had chosen to live in muggle London. It was something his dad had always wanted to do, but could never afford with all the children they had. When Ron chose this apartment Hermione had laughed. It was all the things that Ron had never really been. It was sleek, elegant, muggle, and expensive. But from the first time he had entered the apartment it felt like a refuge from the rest of his life.

Pansy gasped as they entered the living room. "How far up are we?"

"Twenty three floors. It's like being on a broom in the city. Do you want a drink?"

"Whatever you're pouring for yourself is fine. This is spectacular."

Ron summoned over a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses. The bottle poured itself in midair, and then gently floated back to the table. He passed Pansy one of the glasses.

"It's nothing fancy," he apologized. "Just Ogden's Old."

Pansy took a sip and moaned. "It's been so long since I've had Old Ogden, I've forgotten how much I like it." She looked around and sat on the low, red couch that was facing the enormous windows that Ron loved so much. "And is this midcentury modern?"

"No," Ron said and laughed. "This is a charity shop couch that I transfigured."

"That's brilliant," Pansy said and fixed her eyes on Ron. "But I believe that you still need to show me your other tattoos.

"Impatient," Ron scolded, but he placed down his drink and removed his t-shirt. Pansy's eyes followed his form hungrily. He could feel his heart pounding, speeding up, and his cock twitched as her eyes spread from his chest to his stomach to his trousers.

Pansy delicately set down her drink and traced the Latin words on the top of his chest. "Where are the other two?"

"One on each shoulder blade."

"I bet that hurt," she murmured, inching closer to him.

"Like a bitch," he said. Words were becoming harder to form.

"I'll have to take a look at them," she said. "Later." And then Pansy's mouth was on Ron's and they were kissing, and Merlin, could she kiss.

She tasted like firewhisky and she was hot and responsive. Ron pulled her closer and then she was straddling him, one of her hands still on his chest, one holding the back of his neck, trying to pull him closer, closer, closer, like Ron would leave her.

He traced her sides and then found the buttons of her work shirt. He tried to unbutton one but couldn't make his fingers make the deliberate motions to unbutton. He was impatient like he had never been before. He took both hands and pulled hard, ripping away her buttons.

"Hey," Pansy said, but there was laughter in her voice.

"I'll fix it," Ron promised. "Or buy you a new one. Whatever you like. But fuck, Pansy-" he finally tore the half-ruined shirt away from her, and his hands were touching bare skin.

And she was lovely. She was smaller than how she carried herself, all brash and confidence. But she was petite- a good foot shorter, at least, than he was, slim and narrow. Her breasts, covers in a flimsy looking bra were small. Ron unhooked her bra and resumed kissing her, rubbing his palms against her breasts.

She groaned. "Gods, if I had known-"

"Known what," he said, beginning to kiss down her neck.

"How good you are-"

She suddenly stopped talking and arched her back, moaning. Ron's mouth had found one of her perky nipples.

"Fuck Weasley, yes, like that."

"There are many Weasleys," Ron said, kissing between her breasts. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Ugh," Pansy groaned as Ron began teasing her other nipple. "You are the absolute worst, Ron Weasley."

"I thought you were just calling me good," Ron said innocently, and Pansy laughed, a lovely sound that made him want to continue teasing her, making her laugh. His cock twitched. Merlin, he was fucked.

"Wait," Pansy said as Ron began to unbutton her pants. She pushed him away.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes," she said, sounding out of breath. "I just-" she stood and pulled her wand out of her jeans. She waved it and murmured a familiar spell, and a silver haze appeared and soaked into her skin. "Just wanted to use a spell before we get any further."

"Pansy Parkinson," Ron said slowly. "Are you saying you want to fuck me?"

A slow smile spread across Pansy's face. "Maybe." She giggled as Ron slowly stood, an answering smile spread across his face. He must look like the most enormous dork in the world.

"Well then," Ron said, "I'd hate to disappoint." He bent down and kissed her firmly, and she wrapped her arms again around his neck. His arms went around her waist, and then he had picked her up and was carrying her into the bedroom.

He deposited her on his bed and gave a quiet prayer of thanks to someone that he had actually made his bed today. Trousers were so much easier than shirts. In only a moment Pansy fucking Parkinson was laying on his bed, her hair mussed, eyes wide, wearing only a delicate scrap of lace. She looked edible.

She was watching him carefully. He lowed his mouth to the lace and breathed onto her. He could smell her. She let out a shaky exhale, and Ron took that as permission to go further.

With one smooth motion he removed her underwear and now she was fully naked. She was lovely, soft and smooth, looking far more delicate than she was. He wanted to appreciate her more fully, but if he thought too much about it he would never last long enough to make it good for her. Instead he dropped his mouth to her pussy and gave one long, deliberate lick.

She gasped. He did it again, and her hands found his head, running through the stubble of his hair. He delicately licked her clit and she moaned.

Surreal. The word kept floating through Ron's head as he kissed and nibbled and licked Pansy's pussy, focusing on the strangeness of it so that he could keep some cognitive function. Pansy Parkinson was naked in his bed. Pansy Parkinson was writhing as he pleasured her with his mouth. Pansy Parkinson. Pansy. Pansy.

"Ron, oh fuck Ron," she was half screaming, half sobbing, and Ron was intensely grateful for the permanent silencing charm he had put on the apartment when he first moved in. He kept going at what he was doing, and with one final scream she shuddered and then relaxed.

"Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue," she breathed.

"So," Ron said, licking the inside of her thigh. She laughed.

"So," she agreed. She stood to undo Ron's own trousers. "How would you like to be repaid in kind?" She had her hand on his cock, and he groaned.

"I would love it," he said, pulling off his own underwear. "Another time. There's another activity I'd rather do right now."

Pansy pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him, then in one smooth motion had impelled herself onto his cock. And suddenly it was the most wonderful feeling, being inside the smooth warmth of her. She rocked on him, making little gasps, holding tightly to him.

"God, Pansy," he said as she tightened around him. "Fuck, Pansy."

He was grasping just as tightly onto her bottom as she was riding him furiously. _Surreal_ was still floating through his head. Along with _Amazing_ and _Pansy_ and _Fuck_ and _Yes_ and he had to think of other words. Because if he thought about it he could never last.

"Ron," she was panting. She kept going, relentlessly pursuing her own pleasure. He liked that about her, he realized. He liked that she knew what she wanted and that she was going after it. He liked her. He liked her wide blue eyes, closed now in pleasure. He liked her laugh. He liked the way she moved on him- Gods, so good.

She was panting and gasping and pushing and Ron was trying as hard as he could to hold off.

"Almost," she moaned, and Ron broke his hold on her waist to rub her clit while she ground against him. That seemed to work because after a few more moments she was unspooling in his arms. He took the moment to steady her and steady himself, with several deep breaths.

"Shit," Pansy breathed.

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

"What about you?"

Ron thought for a long moment, trying to come up with a position that exciting enough to impress. But then Pansy stroked his face with her fingers and he pulled her close, then rolled the two of them over.

It was the simplest, least exciting position there was, but with her it was like everything was new. She hooked her legs around his waist and scratched his back and moaned as he pumped into her. And oh she was perfect, and this was amazing, it was never this good with someone the first time. Never. And she liked it as much as he did, her moans increasing again, and he tried, he really tried to hold off for another orgasm for her, but it proved to be too much. With an almighty gasp he emptied everything into her. She captured his mouth for a kiss during his release, hot and hard and full of passion.

He rolled over next to her and tried to catch his breath.

"That was-"

"Fucking magical?" Pansy said, giving him a smile. Ron's heart skipped a beat.

"Can't argue when you put it like that."

"Mmhmm," Pansy said drowsily.

"Seriously," Ron said and sighed.

"Not your usual one night stand?" Pansy said. Ron felt his stomach tighten.

He carefully took one finger and traced the bones of her face. Short nose, high cheekbones, pointed chin. The skin over her face was so fine she looked like she was lit within by a candle.

"Is this a one night stand?" Pansy asked softly.

"Not bloody likely," Ron said impulsively. Pansy looked over at him in shock.

"I mean," Ron hastily responded, "if that's all you want it to be that's okay."

Pansy bit her lip. "Not bloody likely," she repeated. Ron's felt the tension in his body leave.

"That's right," Ron agreed. "Besides, you owe me a blowjob."

"At least one," Pansy said. "We're too good at this to do it only once."

"We're pretty good," Ron said. "And you're pretty good yourself."

"

You don't need to remind me that I'm good at sex twice in a row, Weasley," Pansy said, and Ron laughed.

"I meant that I'm mad enough to like you."

"I like you too," Pansy said, and in this moment she seemed unable to meet Ron's eyes. "I like you a lot. I'd like this to be- something."

"Like a boyfriend-girlfriend something?" Ron teased. Pansy smacked one him on his chest.

"Ugh," she said, "it's like we're fifteen again."

"I know," Ron said. "It's unbearable."

"The worst," said Pansy, and she kissed him again. And this kiss was the sweetest of all of them, the most delicate and gentle. Ron didn't know during that kiss that they would fall in love. He didn't know that Pansy would one day move all of her expensive knives and horrible work clothes into his apartment. He could not have seen the casual way she would ask him to marry her at the same bar where they had met for the first time. He had no idea years later they would run into her parents in Diagon and she would introduce Ron to them as her fiancé with all the snot of a proper pureblood heiress. He did not know that they would get married at the Diagon restaurant that she would open, or how much his mum would love Pansy and share her favorite recipes with her. And he could never imagine that they would have three smart, sharp, and beautiful girls who would grow up as bold as their mum.

But after that kiss, he would believe it all.


End file.
